


snowdrops and second chances

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Non-graphic injuries, Prince Phil, but also fairy tale/fantasy, happy/hopeful ending, witch dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: A tale of the prince who set out to rid his kingdom of magic and the healing witch who found him.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 70
Collections: Phandom Reverse Bang 2020





	snowdrops and second chances

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2020 reverse bang based on [captainpawss's](https://captainpawss.tumblr.com/) incredible [ art ](https://captainpawss.tumblr.com/post/623572792919621632/a-tale-of-a-prince-who-set-out-to-rid-his-kingdom)with the help of [insectbah's](https://insectbah.tumblr.com/) literal miracle working beta reading !!

Long ago, when mythical beasts roamed free and the power of magic needn’t be contained, a young prince who would one day have the power to change the course of the future was born. Watching as kingdoms burned and the trickery of magic turned even the most virtuous of men evil, the young prince followed in the path paved for him. One of hatred, one of distrust, and one of war. 

The war against magic left kingdoms grey, a dull muted perception of even the most vibrant hues of nature and fine silk clothing. Grey was preferable to the red and orange of flames, beasts no longer flying in the skies, slain or retreated, and magic all but wiped from existence. In return, kingdoms no longer burned. Not by the breath of a dragon or flames cast from a scepter, at least. 

As the young prince grew, so did his hatred for magic and the ways of the past that allowed it to run so freely and rampantly. Magic was the source of all destruction, all pain, all conflict. That’s all he had ever known. Blaming magic was indoctrinated in him – in everyone – until a past in which magic was accepted and embraced was mere fable. They were stories only told in hushed tones away from the eyes of the palace, lest they be accused of such things as treason or witchcraft themselves. 

The young prince ran around the palace grounds in lightweight, play armor until it began to weigh heavier on his shoulders, in knighthood and in ruling his people. Only a few traces of magic remained, whispers around the kingdom that made their way to the Prince’s ears, and Prince Philip was determined to eradicate them for good. And so, he set off on a quest, one that would set the very tone of his reign before becoming king. 

Across the lands, tucked away in a pocket of forest hidden by more than the trees, another young man prepared to set out on a quest of much smaller stature. Unbeknownst to him, the trip would be far more than he bargained for, and a certain prince was fast approaching. 

Fated in inconceivable tales as one of the last known humans touched by magic, Daniel, too, had long forgotten a world in which the true power of nature ran free and unrestricted. He had no need for memories of fables when through his veins coursed the magic itself, a repressed entity still thrumming through every cell of the earth that flowed freely in Dan. 

It was a solitary life, choosing to remain where he could not be found, where no one would look, just to hold on to himself. He heard far too many tales, then watched far too many acquaintances, friends, and even family succumb, never to be seen again. Some met worse fates, he believed, where the colorful spark was stripped from their very souls, greying with the absence of the magic that belonged within them. 

A far worse fate, indeed. The fate he saw each day with his own two eyes, even in his reclusiveness, with the ever-greying forest around him. His magic preserved the true hues of nature, but only within his little pocket of safety as even he was not powerful enough to take on magic’s greatest foe. 

Dan pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head, embarking on his small journey in the early morning hours. A half a day’s walk was ahead of him, to the patch of snowdrops that seemed to only thrive in the particular patch of forest where he originally found them. No matter how much magic or love or sunlight he gave, the flowers simply refused to grow in his own garden or anywhere closer to home. 

So it was a familiar journey, a quest that Dan himself would not call a quest, that would change it all. 

The early morning air, damp and refreshing on Dan’s face, distracted him from the unusual quiet of the forest, the croaking of frogs and chirping of birds no longer there. In fact, the only sounds seemed to stem from his own feet as he crunched over twigs and leaves, paired with the sound of his breathing and the low tune that he hummed. 

Dan took care of the forest, and the forest took care of Dan, though he’d been known to end up too much in his own head to ever realize it. He was always humming a tune, thinking of something he’d read in his library of books, or even creating and debating arguments within his own mind just for the fun of it. After so long of being alone, being left alone, he didn’t feel the need to be so alert. 

That carelessness caused Dan’s routine trip to become so much more. 

If he had been paying any attention, he would have realized the warning of the quiet forest. Its hush made the drumming of hooves against the mossy floor apparent, even from such a distance. 

All came to a halt with a loud whinny that echoed through the forest, even pulling Dan out of his thoughts, if only for a moment. The shout, then the sharp cracking thud, kept his attention. Two truths could not be ignored: he was not alone in the forest, and whoever it was out there needed Dan’s help. 

He sighed, only for the disruption in his plans, before setting off in the direction of the commotion, listening out for any more shouts or calls for help. It was then, as Dan’s pace quickened, his boots crunching leaves and skillfully bounding over logs in his way, that he noticed the hush of the forest. It was far too quiet for his liking. By the time he located the cause of his small journey’s disruption, he had not yet decided if the quiet was in assistance or warning. 

As Dan stepped through the clearing, there was no sign of the horse he’d heard call out. Instead, in the distance, a rumpled pile of velvety maroon fabric was the only thing out of place in a sea of muted greens and browns. Careful steps closer, Dan realized it was not merely a lost or forgotten item he could scavenge. Though the color wasn’t his taste, far too rich and royal to be something he’d keep, that was not the deterrent. 

A body, peeking out but mostly covered by the cloak, stopped Dan short. A man lay face down in a patch of muddy grass, seemingly tripped or thrown by the downed tree a meter from the boots that stuck out from the hem of the cape. Every ounce of Dan’s magic pulled to help, but every rational thought in his brain screamed to turn and run. 

Rationality lost the battle, and Dan found himself kneeling on the wet ground beside the fallen man. Mud soaked through his own trousers at his knees as he turned the man over. 

The man’s breath tickled at Dan’s forefinger under his nose, and upon an initial once-over, besides being knocked out cold and thoroughly covered in mud, a small gash on his forehead and broken glasses crooked on his nose seemed to be the worst of any injuries. 

With good news, came worse. 

What made Dan’s blood run cold, causing him to almost drop the man in his arms as he eyed it, was the royal crest engraved in gold at the hilt of the sword sheathed against his hip. Taunting Dan, it shined in the sunlight overhead. 

The realization was a second chance to change his mind, or change the course of the future. Dan huffed, muttering something about ‘ _just wanted some fucking Galanthus’_ under his breath while he gently removed the broken frames from the man’s face. He tucked them into the inner pocket he’d stitched into his cloak for safekeeping, and bit his lip as he eyed the hefty ornamental sword again. 

Quick hands fumbled around the man’s waist, detaching the sword at his belt and letting it drop back into the mud. Before his mind could be swayed, any sense could come forth, with a heave and a huff Dan had the man up off the ground and held tight in his arms. He sent a quick prayer to the skies as he turned back in the direction of his home. 

Warded and cloaked by magic, no one could disturb Dan’s little cottage. It sat within a thicket of greenery, tucked away in the furthest corner of the forest. The cottage almost looked to be sprouted from the ground itself, built from warm wood of the same surrounding trees covered in dense moss and climbing ivy until it became more green than anything else. If there weren’t a need for hiding, for secrecy and isolation, the home would be plenty hidden and left alone even without magical wards. But as long as the ruling king stood – and his heir, and _his_ heir, and so on – hiding in the shadows would be essential to survival. 

Dan had never known a time in which his land need not be hidden, and with each passing day the memory of the vibrant hues of the forest beyond his protection waned. 

There is seldom a reason for the young witch to leave his protected land, so he seldom does. Dan’s gardens and the natural land around him provide almost everything he could ever need. His only trips past the barrier were for pesky herbs who didn’t wish to grow for him and a monthly excursion to nearby villages. Cloaked by nightfall, he traded his healing magic in the form of salves and elixirs for dark fabrics and small trinkets and treasures most would not deem valuable, though they were precious to him. 

Dan was willing to share his magic free of charge, as the value of healing others was worth more to him than any gold coins or offers of baked goods. He had all he needed, but he had learned it was far easier, and quicker, to return back to his protected land when he stopped refusing the villagers' trades. Instead of shaking his head at their hard-earned spoils and last dregs of milled wheat, Dan requested something far more simple: fabrics for his ever growing dark wardrobe that he had sewn with an old needle and thread of his own magic, and handmade trinkets or small shining stones that he displayed upon the wooden shelves of his cottage amongst his many vials, bottles, and aging leather bound books. 

He had no need to wish to be rich with gold from his connection to magic, for his wealth was amassed in the love of his home and the warmth that grew strong in his chest with each human, animal, or plant he healed. 

Dan had yet to feel that warmth as he carried the royal-robed man through his invisible barrier. There were no walls or gates, just the tugging of resistance to the intruder that Dan pushed through with little strain. His arms shook more from the weight he carried than any exertion of his magic as he made his way down the path to his cottage as quickly as his legs and heaving chest allowed. 

Dan was less worried about the state of the man – he could feel the shallow breaths against him and he knew his salves and elixirs could fix any jostled brain and would patch up that nasty gash with ease – than he was about the amount of time he was allowing an outsider, a stranger, a possible royal guard within his home. No one besides Dan went in and out of his protective barrier. Hadn’t for many years. 

Not until that day. 

Quick to lay the man down on his small bed pushed up against the far wall of the room, Dan buzzed about the wooden floors of his home, igniting the fire under his large cauldron with a flick of his wrist and grabbing herbs and bottles off his shelves. 

Dan’s cat, Eclipse, perched upon the open window opposite his bed, flicked his black fluffy tail while looking on at Dan’s frantic movements. As much as he wanted to jump down and weave himself through Dan’s legs, happy for him to be home, he knew better than to get in the way when those long legs were carrying him all about the small cottage at such a quick pace. 

The crackles and pops of the fire joined the sounds of Dan’s muttering as he spoke to himself in the quiet space. Vials of vibrant blue liquid pressed to lips with a hand at the back of soft, dark hair once Dan settled on suitable treatments. The crease tugging at Dan’s brow softened as the other man’s breathing became deeper, stronger under his touch. 

With much less urgency, Dan pulled his stool over to the side of the bed and sat himself down with a bowl of warmed water and a soft tear of fabric. 

Dan’s interrupted hums resumed, healing magic thrumming through him as dirt and blood was softly wiped away. The gash on the man’s forehead disappeared quicker than any salve could heal it. That warm feeling from the center of Dan’s chest spread throughout his entire body. His magic was most powerful when used for exactly what it was meant, given directly to the source, not dropped at a village apothecary to be distributed as needed. It was the same feeling, but starkly different with its power and intensity. It washed a sense of calming relief through Dan’s entire being, the magic exchange as soothing as the repetitive motion of soft fabric pressed lightly against stained skin. 

The small moment of calm did not last long. The uncovering of soft, pale skin, tinged a light pink similar to that of even softer looking lips, revealed something far worse than a breathtaking man. 

A realization. Recognition. 

Dan bolted up from his seat, soiled cloth falling to the floor. 

This was no mere royal guard. This was no mere royal. 

The crown prince himself laid sleep in Dan’s bed. A good deed was actually a mistake so grave Dan should have packed up then and there. He should have run far away, further than he had ever gone, because his home was no longer safe. 

But his feet remained bolted to the floor as he looked at closed lids with delicate eyelashes fanned across high cheeks. The man laid before him looked not of an enemy, not in such a vulnerable state. 

In one dangerously gentle movement, the back of Dan’s hand brushed against soft skin. With a sigh of defeat, he sat back down on his stool, resuming his quiet words of healing. 

In Dan’s mind, there was no good reason for him to heal the prince. It was merely a whim fueled by nothing more than intoxicatingly soft skin and sleep-pouted lips. But it was a fate tales say he was always destined to choose. 

Prince Philip’s slumber lasted longer than the transition of the sun to the moon. The small cottage darkened as Dan sat beside him, paced the room, stepped outside to pace his front garden, and made himself dinner. The cottage was now washed in the soft light of the still-crackling fire and a collection of tall dripping candles, shadows exaggerated and features distorted. 

Dan still thought that the man, _the prince,_ resting in his bed looked incredibly beautiful. That was a dangerous thought. This was a dangerous thing he was doing. Risking it all for what? To heal a man who would almost definitely have his head, _his magic_ , upon realization of exactly who had saved him… 

A royal, the prince no less, brought through his protective barrier and placed in his bed. It may have been the most foolish thing Dan had ever done, though for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. He cursed his innate desire, his need, to heal as he looked at the man in his bed from his spot in the plush chair by the fire. 

Dan should wake the prince up, he knew as much. But the healing magic within him wasn’t the pull of yearning he felt, so he decided to trust it. Not yet wanting to face whatever would happen to him when Phil woke, Dan hoped his magic would not cause him to stray and the sleep was not making Phil’s injuries any worse. 

He wasn’t sure why he bothered worrying of such things; he should be wishing ill intent to any and all royals. That was how it was supposed to be. 

Enemies. That was what they were. 

Phil’s finer clothes, soiled from his fall, were set out to soak, the prince now clad in Dan’s own night clothes. It made Dan’s stomach twist, looking at someone who he could so easily mistake as a commoner, or even someone like him. 

Dan looked away from Phil and to the fire, curling up to find his own sleep while his cat’s tail flicked against his shoulder from his perch atop the back of the chair – at least one of them on guard. The fire, reflected in his eyes, rose with a flick of his wrist, warming the room. With another, the candles all around blew out and he finally let his tired eyes blink shut. 

Surprisingly deep sleep for such an uncomfortable position was interrupted by a shout. Dan jolted awake with the noise. 

“– are you? What have you done with my clothes, my sword? My horse? I’ll have you know the guard will have your –” 

Dan rubbed his eyes with a long, heavy sigh as scattered words were shouted at him. His back popped and cracked in that satisfying way as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Phil was now awake, red in the face as he spat questions and vague threats Dan’s way. He was sitting up, though he gripped the edges of Dan’s bed with white knuckles, clearly still out of it to an extent. Weak enough that his words were not accompanied by a threat of the physical upper hand. 

Dan would take that gladly. 

“Will you just calm down?” Dan’s voice was sharp, the words in Phil’s throat dying as Dan stood up from his chair and towered over him. With crossed arms, he sized up the prince. 

Brown eyes bore into blue, Dan getting lost for a moment, wondering idly to himself why all the portraits he had seen of the man were lacking that exact hue. It was a blue only seen up above on the brightest of days and in the late spring blooms of his favorite garden poppies. 

The thought was whisked away as quickly as it came with the quiet that fell over the room. Dan narrowed his eyes. 

“Much better.” He nodded once. Then, in a softer voice, with calculated words. “I’m Dan. I’m a healer. A man of medicine. I have no ill intent.” 

The challenge in Phil’s eyes softened, inquisition replacing malice. The air in the cottage seemed to lift with Dan’s own chest, though the tension in his shoulders stayed. He was not to let down his guard. 

“What business does a healer have with me?” 

Dan’s eyes widened, a horrible feeling swirling in his gut. He should not have left Phil to sleep. He took a step forward, bending down with a hand on Phil’s shoulder to inspect his eyes for more than the mere admiration of their shade. 

“Have you no memory?” 

“My memory is just fine, thank you,” the prince spat back. But it did not land as intended, the worry in his brow so strong Dan felt the need to smooth the crease between his eyes with a gentle swipe of his thumb. 

Intuitive by nature, Dan was excellent at catching lies and half-truths, though it was easy when truths were worn so carelessly on the face by most. He tried to school his own expression, words carefully thought out as he kept the back of his hand at Phil’s forehead, feeling for far more than an increased temperature. 

“I found you unconscious in the soil in the middle of the forest. Don’t you know these lands are far too dangerous to traverse alone?” Dan asked softly as he let his magic assess Phil’s head. Phil leaned into the touch, not recoiling from the feeling of magic, seemingly none the wiser. Dan would have liked to keep it that way. 

“Does your head hurt?” 

“A bit,” Phil said. His eyes flicked up to meet Dan’s, squinting as Dan felt him wince under his touch. 

Dan hummed, lingering for a moment before letting go of Phil. He turned on his heel and stepped across the room to sort through his organized shelf of glass bottles and vials, seeking something for that twinge of pain that he could feel still remained in Phil’s head. 

“My glasses,” Phil hummed, still sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Hm?” Dan barely registered the words, too focused on the task at hand. 

The sound of Phil clearing his throat filled the room. Then, louder, he elaborated, “I would like to see you. I can’t –” Phil hung his head, “– I cannot see very well without my glasses.” 

“Oh.” Dan turned around, a vial in each hand. He walked over and set them down on the bed beside Phil’s thigh, the glass clinking as they hit the soft surface. The repaired set of frames were procured from his own cloak, abandoned on the stool by the bed, and he held them out to the prince.

Phil took them eagerly, his eyes and shoulders visibly more relaxed once he slid them onto his face. Phil took in Dan without the foggy edges, examining the dark curls on his head and freckles that dotted his cheeks as he allowed Dan to feed him something that made his nose scrunch up in distaste. Before he could even open his sour-tasting mouth to complain, he felt an instantaneous relief of pressure in his head. 

“Why don’t you lie back down, and I’ll get you something to eat?” Dan said, reaching around Phil to fluff the singular pillow at the top of his bed before gently pushing at his shoulder to lay him back. 

Phil went easily, for even with the ease of the throbbing in his head and excess of sleep, his sudden outburst upon waking had taken far more energy than he had to spare. His grumbling stomach at the very mention of food emphasized his drained energy. Dan’s huff of a chuckle filled the small cottage in response. 

Both of the men felt an inexplicable air of safety in the room that neither of them should have lain trust in – though, for whatever reason, they did. 

Phil didn’t sleep for much longer, merely resting his eyes in long blinks as Dan prepared them something warm and filling in the pot over the fire. There was something fascinating about the man; Phil was able to admire without the initial fear from waking up in an unfamiliar place with a foggy memory taking over every bone in his body. 

Though Phil suspected they would be of similar stature if he stood up from the bed, with the way Dan hunched his shoulders and looked almost out of place in the small cottage, he was definitely a bit taller. His hands were bigger, perhaps stronger than Phil’s if he knew how to fight, but their movements seemed calculated, gentle, as they cut and stirred and wrung together. Something about it made it impossible for the prince to look away. So he didn’t. 

Phil’s suspicions were proven true once his stomach was full and a warm hand wrapped around his own to help him up from the bed, having to tilt his chin upward the slightest amount to catch Dan’s wary eye as he gestured towards the door. 

In all of his days, Phil had never seen so much _green._ So vibrant and fresh, it was almost unbelievable as he stepped through the wooden cottage door. Dan stepped around him, unbothered by Phil’s faltering steps, to pin Phil’s damp clothes to the twine clothesline off to the side of the house. 

Birds chirped overhead. Occasionally they flew through the sky, but were mostly tucked away in their cozy spots hidden up high in the trees. Trees that were _so_ tall and green and full of _life,_ just like the grass underfoot. It tickled at his ankles, soft under the borrowed socks on his feet as he looked up and around with wide eyes and lips parted in awe. 

Phil didn’t believe his eyes. 

“What did you do to my glasses?” Phil asked when he finally caught the words in his brain and connected them to his mouth. He called over to Dan with his back still turned, unable to pull his eyes away from the view in front of him. 

He really didn’t believe his eyes. 

“Hm?” Dan hummed, approaching the other man cautiously, the grass tickling at his ankles as well. He knew it was well overgrown, but he didn’t quite like to tame it. 

“My glasses,” Phil said. He turned to look over his shoulder at Dan, his eyes still wide behind the frames. There was something wild in them, something awoken by truly seeing the natural world for the first time. “What did you do to them?” 

Phil pulled them off his face and held them out in front of him, inspecting them with a squint that looked almost comical to Dan. 

Dan stifled his laughter as those same eyes flicked up to him with the lift of Phil’s chin. The prince looked not unlike the moles that always seemed to find their way back to Dan’s garden. 

They were pesky, but Dan couldn’t help but find them a bit cute. He tried not to think similar thoughts about Phil as he carefully crafted his words. 

“I fixed them,” Dan said with a nod towards the frames in Phil’s hands. “You damaged the glass in your fall. I’m a collector of things from time to time. The glass was easily replaced.” 

The best way to tell a lie is to not fib at all. 

Phil gave him one last suspicious glance before giving the same to the glasses. With pursed lips, he slid them back onto his face. 

“Your glass is far superior to mine,” he said thoughtfully, still eyeing Dan with caution. “I can see much more clearly. Is this how green is always supposed to look?” he asked as he looked away, up to the trees surrounding the cottage with that awed look back in his eyes. 

_Oh,_ Dan thought. 

“Oh,” Dan said. “No, er – well, I mean yes. But it isn’t the glass’s doing, I’m afraid.” Dan flexed his fingers at his side, curling them into a fist and squeezing. “These lands are not yet touched by the cursed drain of magic,” he added through his teeth, the anger slipping out. Dan steadied his breathing, a deep inhale in and out, as he loosened his clenched fist to stop the dull ache that was throbbing in the center of his palm. 

There was a long pause. Dan bit his tongue as he breathed in and out; Phil kept his eyes to the treetops. 

Phil was the one to break the silence. 

“You seem to have misspoke,” Phil said, losing the awed tone of his voice as he turned back to Dan. “Magic _is_ the curse.” 

Dan narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he clenched his fist again. “If magic is the curse, why do my lands amaze you?” 

Phil’s head whipped back around to Dan, his eyes similar narrow slits as they sized each other up. The tension between the two of them that had been slowly melting away with their shared comfortable quiet inside the cottage came back in full force. 

“I see it in your eyes,” Dan continued with a raise of his brow. “I bet you’ve never seen such color before. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He gave Phil one last challenging glare with a tilt of his chin, his expression almost smug, before looking away to scan his eyes across the corner of the forest he called home. Lush grass and trees and gardens, all of it bursting at the seams with life. Surroundings that lifted Dan’s chest with every deep inhale. All a rarity in these cursed lands. 

“Why would it captivate you so, if magic is this terrible beast you make it out to be?” 

“You should be careful.” Phil’s voice was sharp, cutting through the breeze with a bite that made Dan clench his jaw further. “That’s treason you’re speaking.” 

Dan huffed, looking back to Phil with crossed arms and a cocky grin. “I do not fear you.” 

Phil’s hand instinctually rested at his hip. He clutched at nothing but dark fabric, a reminder that he was still without his weapon. He squared his shoulders regardless, holding his ground as he and Dan stared at each other with a lingering, challenging gaze. 

“Perhaps you should,” is all Phil said in a low voice. 

Something flashed across Dan’s eyes, a pained look before he snapped his eyes to the ground as nothing but a low whisper left his lips. 

“I know I should.” 

Though Dan’s voice broke slightly with the words, the angry fire in his soul was alight with burning hot flames. He channeled that, over anything else bubbling over in his chest, lest he slip up and make this any worse for himself. He looked back up at Phil, fists clenched at his sides, a brow raised in challenge. 

Phil seemed to know he did not have the upper hand. Not with his pounding head and lack of weaponry. He huffed, crossing his arms as he looked down his nose at Dan. Dan stood up straighter in response, using his height to the advantage as he rarely ever did. 

Neither of them wanted to fight. Perhaps the prince thought he did, perhaps the witch thought he could, but the tension between the two of them did not snap with a fist or a lunge. It snapped with a flick of Phil’s eyes. 

“When will those be sufficiently dried?” Phil asked with a nod to the clothing line over Dan’s shoulder. “I wish to leave _this land,”_ he added, those words spat with distaste in Dan’s direction. 

He wished to leave and return with his weaponry and the masses of his guard to strip it of the last remaining magic as he had come to do. 

The additional sentiment was not said aloud, though it needn’t be. Dan easily read it on his face, that scornful expression of his that made him look like his father, his father’s father.

“You’ll be on your merry way soon,” Dan muttered, a bite in his tone as he shot Phil a tight, fake smile. 

Dan didn’t wait for Phil’s response, storming past him back into his cottage, wooden door slammed behind him. The sound echoed through the forest, causing the plants in Dan’s garden to cower and a flock of birds to fly out from their perched position in the trees in fright. 

As Dan stewed inside his cottage, muttered curses at his own stupidity and carelessness joining the clangs of glass bottles and metals with his angry reorganizing of his shelves, Phil remained in the garden. Two men who could not believe themselves to be any more different found themselves feeling exactly the same. 

Phil sighed as he walked the garden at a slow pace, his mind racing with unrest in an otherwise peaceful place. He stepped from tall grass to the warm stones laid out in a weathered path that led to a small pond. The softer hum of croaking frogs became louder with every step, though Phil did not find annoyance in it. For some reason, the unfamiliar sound added to the peace of his surroundings and he embraced it as he sat down in the grass by the edge of the pond. 

The grass was soft, the sun warm, and Phil cocked his head to the side in intrigue at the loudest offender sat atop a lily pad a meter away. The frog almost looked as though it had a similar expression on its face, but that would be ridiculous. 

It was almost as ridiculous as the thought in Phil’s head as he listened to the songs of the frogs, the birds, the insects in the grass. The vivid sounds of nature and the ideas floating around Phil’s mind all seemed so new, so odd. 

Though perhaps it would be more foolish to ignore a voice that seemed to sound like his own. A voice that was constantly pushed down, rarely heard. 

If all of this was only possible by the touch of magic, as the other man implied, where was the destruction? The pain? Why did the very air around him feel right in a way he had never felt before? 

The sun sat lower in the sky when Dan peered out the cottage window. He was almost surprised to see the prince still sat in his garden by the pond, his back turned with his chin resting on one of his knees folded up to his chest, a pale finger skimming the water in front of him. Dan was definitely surprised that no lingering anger bubbled up at the sight. There was something else instead, something softer, warmer. Dan knew the feeling in his chest was the same one that got him into this situation in the first place, but he couldn’t help himself from leaning into it. 

Perhaps it was recklessness, perhaps it was fate. 

Whatever it was, Dan embraced it with a roll of his eyes at himself and a pat at his cat’s head on his way to the door, Eclipse giving him as much of a questioning gaze as any feline could. 

The royal fabrics hanging from Dan’s clothing line dried quickly in the sun. After softly shutting the cottage door behind him, Dan quietly unpinned them with an eye on the back of Phil’s head. They were folded loosely in his arms, and he took careful steps down the stone path to his pond, dropping them beside Phil with a soft thud in the grass. 

For some reason, Dan does the same. The frogs croaked louder at Dan’s presence, starting up their evening chatter as he folded his legs in a criss-cross and hummed a polite greeting of his own in response. There was a gentle huff of a laugh beside him, followed by a barely audible sigh. 

“Hey,” Phil said softly. “I’m sorry.” 

Dan huffed his own, far more incredulous, laugh. “You’re just saying that because your head hurts and you want more of this,” Dan replied, sliding a hand into his cloak to procure the vial of medicine in its inner pocket. He shook it a few times as he held it up to the sun, the liquid glistening, but Dan’s eyes were on a different, far more beautiful, shade of blue. 

Phil laughed, a sound less contained, more free and unrestricted, as his eyes flicked from Dan’s, to the bottle, then back. 

“No.” Phil frowned slightly with a soft sigh, picking his head up from his knee to lean back on his palms in the grass. 

“Really, I’m sorry,” Phil repeated, looking over at Dan with an open, genuine expression. “I shouldn’t have threatened you like that. I do not wish to rule with fear.”

“Then why do you?” Dan asked quietly, though the flames that burned behind his eyes were loud. 

“I –” Phil opened and closed his mouth a few times. Dan’s words and gaze hit him as strongly as his own solitary thoughts. _Why did he?_

“It’s all I know,” Phil sighed eventually. “All I’m allowed.” 

Dan hummed, the sound feeling and sounding wrong. 

“Is this really magic’s doing?” Phil asked before either of them could say more, gesturing to the air around him. “It’s like I can _feel_ it,” he added in a whisper. 

Dan simply nodded, not allowing himself to say more, not allowing himself to lean too far into a feeling of security in the air that was most likely fabricated. 

“Why doesn’t it feel wrong?” Phil asked, looking at Dan with searching eyes. “It should feel wrong…” It wasn’t a question, but the inflection in Phil’s voice made it sound like one. The conflict on his face mirrored his tone. 

“Because it isn’t,” Dan said simply, looking away from the other man, out past the pond before them. 

He left it at that. Left it with the quiet that fell between them, a quiet that had never felt so loud with the songs of the forest around them. 

“Here,” Dan said after a few moments, looking over to Phil as he reached over to place the vial of medicine in his hand. “Your head _is_ still hurting, right?” he asked with a lifted brow. 

Phil pursed his lips in a slight pout that matched his eyes, shrinking a bit as he nodded his head. “Not from the fall,” he said in a low hum. 

Dan returned it with his own hum as he watched Phil tilt the bottle against his lips. The slight tug in Phil’s brow softened as the healing magic did its job. Dan’s own head twinged with a bit of pain as well. He understood. 

That did not mean he should be keeping this man around though. Dan knew he had already let his guard down too much, said too much. 

“Your robes have dried.” Dan patted at the pile of fabric that sat between them. “You should be on your way now.” 

“I don’t know these lands –” 

“I think it’s better if you don’t,” Dan quipped, looking at the prince with sharp eyes. 

Phil held his hands up, nodding his head. “I agree,” he said softly. “If you would help me locate my horse, I will leave as though I never was here.” 

“Can I trust you?” Dan didn’t know why he asked the question. He couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t trust the prince. 

Phil nodded. “Promise.” 

Dan sighed. “Okay,” he agreed with reluctance. “I didn’t manage to make it to the patch of _Galanthus_ when I found you. So if we happen to go the same way, I guess you may tag along.” 

“Thank you,” Phil said, keeping Dan’s gaze as he carefully reached out a hand to pat at Dan’s knee. Dan didn’t flinch away from the touch. He actually missed it when it was pulled away.

“For everything,” Phil added, wrapping his arms around his own legs again and looking down into the pond. Both of the men watched their reflections in the still water. 

Dan merely hummed, low in his throat. 

“We’ll leave at daybreak.” 

Something changed between the two of them as the day progressed, an unsaid agreement, possibly even an understanding if either of them would be so trusting. The prince’s curiosity seemed to be just that, having no ill intent as he admired the gardens and the various trinkets Dan kept around his cottage, astounded by such novelty. Dan wasn’t sure he could be so lucky. 

Upon Phil’s insistence, Dan slept in his own bed that night. Phil curled up in the chair by the fire. Neither had restless sleep, and neither decided to put any thought into that or analyze it any further. 

They left just as the sun began its ascent in the sky, Dan with the hood of his dark cloak pulled up over his head and the prince beside him. The vibrant red hues of the hood lain across the back of Phil’s shoulders dulled as they passed through Dan’s invisible property line. 

An odd sense of peace washed over Dan as it happened, a feeling he typically didn’t find when stepping through into the lands no longer touched by magic. He knew at any moment he could turn back, return to the safety of his warded land, and leave the prince behind – a failsafe. 

Dan felt as foolish as he had upon carrying Phil through the barrier in the first place when he did not immediately turn back upon Phil exiting his land. It would be so easy. It would be safe; he would be safe. But Dan continued along the forest’s path instead, something far beyond his own heart telling him this was the one he needed to take. 

Two set out on their journey, though this time it was shared. This time their paths did not merely cross, and unbeknownst to either of them, it would not be the last. 

As twigs cracked underfoot and they made their way through the forest, Dan felt the presence beside him go from _not all that bad_ to _actually enjoyable_. He hated to admit there was something about the prince, something charismatic and endearing. He saw it in the way Phil looked around in wonder at every new noise of nature, in how his own hand was almost permanently attached to Phil’s elbow as Phil stumbled on rocks and uneven ground far more often than his more agile self. And he saw it in the way the prince seemed genuine when he frowned at the ever-greying colors of the forest around them as they traversed further and further from Dan’s home. 

Dan held his breath, and put faith in every ounce of trust within him, when they passed through where he first found the prince in the soil. If either of them were going to kill the other, they would have done it by now, Dan rationalized as he watched Phil recover his sword, the silver returning to its original mirror-like shine as he wiped the blade with the bottom of his cloak. 

Phil looked at Dan in the reflection of the blade held before his face, and felt a twist in his chest so strong at the expression he saw, it felt as though the blade was twisting right through his heart. Fear was not the look Phil wanted to invoke, yet there it was staring back at him on that beautiful face. 

Without a second thought, Phil sheathed his sword, then pulled off his belt entirely, turning to Dan with the heavy steel and silver held out between them. 

Dan quirked a brow, giving Phil a questioning look as he flicked his eyes between him and the object being offered to him. 

“We shouldn’t leave it here,” Phil explained. “You should take it.” 

Dan squinted at the shining metal, the ornate designs that covered its body – beautiful swirlings of gold and silver, and of course the Lester family crest. 

“Why?” Dan asked. 

Phil took a deep breath in, then out. He looked at the heavy sword in his hands as he spoke. “You should take it.” 

Dan reached out between them, touching the cool metal. “I’m not really a sword kind of guy,” Dan said with a light tone, pushing the sword back towards Phil. 

“I do not wish for you to fear me,” Phil protested. 

“I should fear you –”

“You should not.” 

“– but I am unsure if I do,” Dan spoke over Phil, disregarding his interruption. His eyes flicked up, boring into shining blue. 

They continued on, the sword resting at Phil’s hip and the air between the two of them charged with something neither could quite put their finger on. 

It wasn’t hatred or fear. It felt an awful lot like magic, but Dan knew better. It wasn’t magic; at least, it wasn’t any magic Dan had ever encountered. 

They didn’t find Phil’s horse near the clearing Dan had found Phil in, but that came as no surprise to either of the two men and they kept their feet moving. Dan led them towards the river, both agreeing that would be the obvious course for the animal. So on they kept, through the forest side by side, only deviating from the trail to the river so Dan could finally finish the quest he set out on two days prior. 

As Dan knelt in the dirt, collecting the flowers that got him into this situation, there was a pained sound from Phil’s throat behind him. Before he could turn, or even raise question, his name was called in that same low, pained voice. 

“Dan,” Phil called, “come and look at this.” 

Dan carefully tucked the flowers into his cloak pocket and pushed himself up off the ground, wiping the dirt off his hands before turning to locate Phil. 

The prince was crouched beside a far tree, looking down intently at something in the dirt by the base with a pitiful look on his face. As Dan stepped closer, he saw the reason for Phil’s upset. A small sparrow lay before him, its wing clearly injured. 

Dan looked from the bird, to Phil, then up to the tree, spotting the nest the young bird must have fallen from. There were no other chirps or cries that they could hear, the creature left all alone. 

Dan knew he could heal it; his magic yearned to heal it just as it yearned to heal the man at his feet. 

But he couldn’t. The magic used would not be subtle or easily explained away. Dan would be exposing himself far more than he already had back at his cottage. 

“It’s best to leave it, Phil,” Dan said, his own voice audibly upset with the decision. 

“I can’t just leave it!” Phil looked up with wide, watery eyes. “It’s hurt. It needs help.” 

“We can’t give it the help it needs,” Dan lied. 

Phil huffed, looking back down at the bird on the ground. Before Dan could protest, Phil scooped up the frail creature in his hands, cradling it gently. 

“I will take it with me,” Phil said, the tone of his voice stressing the finality of his decision. 

“Phil, you can’t –” 

“I’m not leaving it,” Phil interrupted stubbornly. As Phil clutched the bird close to his chest, Dan knew he wouldn’t be able to change his mind. 

“Which way were we going?” Phil asks, proving his point as he looked around the clearing before heading off – in the wrong direction – with the bird held gently in his hands. 

“Wait!” Dan reluctantly called, every rational bone in his body regretting it while the healing magic within him tingled at the tips of his fingers. Feet moving faster than any rational thoughts, Dan found himself in front of Phil before Phil could even turn back around. 

With bated breath, Dan held out his hands for the injured animal. If there was an intake of breath as their hands briefly brushed, Dan ignored it. He instead focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t bear to leave the bird in pain, the pull to heal stronger than the pull to keep himself safe. 

It was easier to act as though the man in front of him wasn’t there. Dan knew this couldn’t be explained or redeemed. He rationalized the idea only with the assurance that he knew these forests like the back of his hand. Phil was still weak from his fall, so Dan had no worries that he couldn’t outrun him. He could heal the bird and get away. 

Dan focused on his plan as the golden glow of his magic seeped from his hands to the life cupped in them. A louder gasp filled the clearing as it glowed. Dan’s heart beat faster as he felt the pain of the animal subside, felt it grow stronger in his hands. Healing like this made Dan feel good, _whole._ But once all pain had vanished, the only thing Dan could feel was fear. 

The second the bird’s feet pushed up off of Dan’s palms, wings expanding in flight, he bolted. His feet were nimble over the forest ground, and not a moment was spared to look over his shoulder as he heard the telltale signs of being chased after. 

He just needed to be faster. He knew the way. He knew he would be safe as long as he remained a few paces faster, as long as he got through his protective barrier before the prin–

A hand roughly grabbing at Dan’s shoulder pulled him out of his reassurances. 

A shout. Heaving chests as he was stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels. 

Dan hadn’t been quick enough on his feet, so he wasted no time in grabbing at Phil’s waist before Phil’s other hand could land on his shoulder. 

The sword was drawn in an instant. Phil’s shout of protest barely processed in Dan’s ears as Phil was pushed a pace back, the tip of his own sword gently pressing under his chin. Dan’s eyes were fierce, blurred edges coming into focus with his regained breath, his mind running faster than any of his movements in order to catch up. 

“Dan.” Phil brought his attention back. 

His name caused Dan to narrow his eyes, lifting the sword – and in turn, Phil’s chin – the slightest amount. 

“Dan,” Phil repeated, voice pleading. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Dan huffed, a smirk threatening to pull at his lips as he held firm to the heavy metal in his hand. 

“Of course you aren’t. I am not the one with a blade pressed to his throat.” Dan tilted the sword again, Phil having to look down his nose to keep their eyes locked. The look was not at all how Dan had seen it before though. It was more pleading, even guilty, than righteous or haughty. 

“I wouldn’t have –” Phil whispered, “– I won’t…” His voice trailed off as his eyes glistened, just as the silver beneath his chin glistened in the sun. 

It felt almost as if the hands of time slowed. Dan watched as a hand came up between them. Slowly, carefully, Phil pressed his palm down against the sword. Dan found himself unable to press forward with their eyes on level ground, unable to do anything but loosen his grip as Phil pushed away the sword. It clattered to the forest ground, neither of the two men following the sound with their eyes. 

“How can I restore it?” 

The question was all that was breathed between the two, somewhere in the hours or seconds of the charged moment. It was left lingering in the air, floating up to the tops of the trees surrounding them as Dan tried to make sense of the words. 

The confusion and mistrust were clear on Dan’s face, clear enough that Phil stopped quickly in his tracks when he approached and Dan immediately stepped back. 

“Magic,” Phil said. “I want to bring it back.” 

It didn’t sound like a trick or false promise. The open expression on Phil’s face read genuine. Dan’s heart beat so quickly in his chest, he could hear it in his ears. A hand was held out between them. Dan’s eyes flicked down to Phil’s open palm. 

Suddenly, there was no fear. 

The warmth that burned through their palms as Dan placed his hand over the prince’s was much more than mere body heat. Though it was a different shade, a hue Dan had never before seen, a similar glow to the golden light of Dan’s healing magic emanated from their joined hands. 

It was all either of them saw through their closed eyelids as Dan pulled Phil close to his chest by the tug of his hand.

At the time, both men were entirely unaware of the strengthening hues of the forest surrounding them as their lips found home.


End file.
